AN: Just a random idea that I decided to put into words. My first fanfiction, and maybe my last XD
Inspired by the idea of Old Magic in enembee's 'By the Diving Light', though very much inferior to that wonderful story.
Harry awoke suddenly in the dark of the infirmary, fully alert. That he was awake at all was the first sign of something strange. After talking to the headmaster at length about his encounter with the Voldemort-possessed Quirrell, Madam Pomfrey had all but force fed Harry a Dreamless Sleep potion to afford him a clear night of rest before the inevitable nightmares that follow such a traumatic experience. Before his eyes could fully adjust to the darkness, a dim light appeared and grew steadily brighter until the area surrounding his bed was suffused with a warm glow of sufficient luminosity as to clearly display the features of the unknown man calmly watching him from a chair beside his bed.
Harry raised himself up slowly and carefully, not taking his eyes off his visitor while the stranger in turn stared at him thoughtfully. After a few more seconds of silence the man began to speak.
"I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Nicolas Flamel. No doubt you've heard of me."
Harry thought the latter part an unusual statement given that the man must have been aware that it was his very Philosopher's Stone that Harry had saved from the clutches of the Dark Lord just the night before. Nevertheless, Harry nodded slowly.
"You're the maker of the Philosopher's Stone. You're Professor Dumbledore's friend."
Flamel nodded back. "I am indeed Albus' friend, and the keeper of the stone. And I'm here to see the remarkable young man who helped keep my stone safe."
Harry didn't know what to say to that, and so said nothing at all. After a few more moments of silence Flamel continued. "I must thank you. You have done me and my wife a great service in protecting that which is precious to us."
Harry remained silent, uncomfortable with the thanks and the attention.
"I imagine," said Flamel "that you might be wondering why we would let something so valuable as the stone out of our custody."
Harry had indeed wondered such a thing, if only briefly. Why would the Flamels allow the thing that was keeping them alive to be stored not only away from themselves but behind traps and puzzles that could be overcome by three first-year students of magic? He said as much to the legendary alchemist.
"Indeed," he acknowledged, "such an action would seem to be most unwise. And yet I am regarded by many as wise. Can you think why a wise man would do such an irresponsible thing?"
Harry paused, and considered the question. Why indeed, he thought. What reason might have compelled him to do such a thing were he in Flamel's position? After a few moments of silence, the old wizard interrupted Harry's ruminations.
"Tell me Harry, how common do you think life-extending substances and artefacts are? Have you heard of any other way to avoid death, perhaps as legend or hearsay?"
This one was easy. Though he was sure the knowledge was beyond a normal first year student, his own experience allowed him to respond with unusual confidence, and he told the alchemist of the silvery liquid consumed by the possessed Quirrell.
"Yes, excellent! Unicorn blood! It's certainly been shown that drinking unicorn blood can keep one from death, though whether such an effect can produce eternal life has not yet been determined." Here, he grinned wryly. "Though I suppose the same could be said of the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life. After all, while myself and my wife have lived a very long time, we are hardly yet to be classified as eternal. Good. You think well. Now, tell me Harry, what would you think is the main difference between drinking unicorn blood and drinking the Elixir of Life? The practical difference I mean, ignoring for now the morality of the two scenarios."
Thinking back briefly to his conversation with the headmaster, Harry replied.
"Unicorn blood…" he started hesitantly, "Drinking unicorn blood curses the drinker, right? And the Elixir…doesn't?" Harry realised suddenly that for all he knew the Elixir did indeed curse the drinker. There had been almost no information in the books he had read aside from that which was commonly known; the Philosopher's Stone could turn any metal into gold, and also produced the Elixir of Life, which was assumed to convey immortality.
"Exactly." Flamel confirmed. "The Elixir grants true longevity without apparent repercussions, whereas unicorn blood will curse the drinker into a half-life. These of course are not the only ways to extend one's life, but, much like unicorn blood, all other known methods, or at least to say all methods I know of barring the Elixir of Life, have some form of negative consequence, usually extremely severe. So you see, Harry, that the stone is a very rare item indeed. So again I ask, why do you think that we would risk such a treasure in such an insecure location? Why would you risk such an item behind such insufficient security?"
The answer was simple. He wouldn't. And, he comprehended, neither would the Flamels. His eyes grew large upon this understanding.
"You wouldn't take that risk. No-one would. No-one would be that…"
Flamel lent back a bit in his seat, a grin of satisfaction on his face. "Precisely! Precisely, very well done. No, the stone you took, though not without value, is not the Philosopher's Stone. Indeed, there is no-one alive today other than myself or my wife who could recognise the true Philosopher's Stone. It is a secret we keep safe, and a secret we do not share."
"The headmaster said that you'd agreed to destroy the stone. But if it's not even the real stone, I suppose that you haven't destroyed it at all."
Flamel nodded again. "My wife and I thought it might be best that the Philosopher's Stone be believed destroyed. This way, the information will surely filter out into wider society, especially to those who seek us for the stone. If they believe it destroyed…well, that just makes the stone even more secure."
Harry saw the sense of this and felt no need to respond. A silence, not uncomfortable, fell upon the pair. Harry considered the alchemists words.
"Sir…" he started hesitantly.
"Not sir," said Flamel, "I don't need to feel any older than I already am. Flamel will do, or, if are you comfortable, Nicolas, for that is how I ask my friends to call me."
Harry felt an odd thrill of delight that this legendary figure should allow him to be considered a friend though they had barely even met.
"Nicolas…if you and your wife created the stone, wouldn't people still try to find you? To get the information about how you created it?"
"Yes, I suppose they would" pondered Nicolas, "for a time at least. But with the stone supposedly destroyed my wife and I are expected to pass, and soon at that. In truth, we live a remote life as it is, and interact very little with the world outside of our homes. It will not take much effort for us to disappear, and then those who assume us dead will have no reason to think otherwise."
Seeing a look of understanding on the face of the young wizard before him, he continued.
"Even if they were to find us, I'm afraid that it wouldn't do them much good. The protections we placed on the stone ensure that only we can retrieve it, and only willingly and without coercion; that was a complicated bit of magic, I can tell you! As for the knowledge of its creation…well, we did not create the stone Harry." He chuckled at the surprised expression facing him. "Honest, I swear! We did not make it. Such a power is beyond the magics of wizards and witches. No, we found the stone. Purposely mind you, after many years of research. We found the stone and have never claimed to have created it. That is an assumption on the part of others. But such a thing, such a rare artefact, this belongs to a realm of magic far more ancient and mysterious than that of modern magicians. Such a magic can be tapped into, explored, and that is what my wife and I have been doing over these many centuries of life. But even for those experienced as we, things such as the Philosopher's Stone are well beyond us."
At this, Harry could not help but be deeply intrigued. He knew that he was relatively inexperienced when it came to the magical, but his lessons and study in the past year had built up an impression of magic for him, one of order, structure, and progression. Spells, it had seemed to him, needed only the right words and the right gestures, and something of a sense of one's own magic to cast. The first-year spells would of course be the easiest, with the magic increasing in technical and conceptual complexity, as well as power requirements as the years progressed. He had felt that there was no magic beyond him as long as he built up from the basics, step-by-step.
But now it seemed that he had only glimpsed the surface of what was possible. He felt that he was on the tip of an iceberg of magic, but one that was itself floating in a sea of the supernatural. A sea whose currents were uncharted, and whose depths were almost entirely unexplored. He had been naïve to assume that after only a single year that he could already see the limits of magic, like a man in the centre of a clearing in a forest declaring that the whole world was within this small empty space amongst the trees.
Stunned by this revelation he almost missed as the alchemists continued.
"Not that you would hear anything about this kind of magic at Hogwarts, of course. Your education here is all about preparing you for your day-to-day life as a magical adult, as well as allowing you a safe environment to mature in your magic, and rightly so! You need to learn what magic can do, and how to use it responsibly, as well as gain those skills that are the foundation upon which you'll build your life. Still, it is a pity that there isn't at least something for the higher years…perhaps an optional lecture or two outlining some of the fundamentals…after all, the Department of Mysteries has always traditionally struggled for suitable candidates…"
Harry got the distinct impression that the old wizard was talking more to himself at this point, and Flamel seemed to realise it too as he shook his head as if to clear it before reaching into his robes and pulling out a (presumably mechanical) bronze pocket watch.
"Right," he declared after checking the time, "I said I was here to meet you, and meet you I have."
At this he stood up. "You are still on bed rest I presume, so I shan't keep you any longer. However, I shall leave you a little something; a token of appreciation for services rendered. You will find it upon your return to your dormitory. Now, I must admit that I came here without informing your headmaster, and indeed I didn't correct his assumption that the stone would be destroyed, so I would appreciate it if this conversation be kept between the two of us. I realise that you might want to share at least some of what I have told you with your friends, but I hope that you'll understand when I say that the fewer people know about this meeting the safer it is for all involved. I almost didn't come here, but I felt that you had a right to know about the fate of the stone after risking your life in such a fashion to protect it. Plus, of course, I was curious to meet the boy who faced Voldemort with such bravery and determination."
After such a show of respect and trust (along with the flattery) Harry indulged in only a slight hesitation before agreeing to the man's request. Flamel smiled slightly in thanks, bowed, and then turned abruptly to stride out of the infirmary.
Harry laid back to process all that he had just learned. So caught up was he in replaying the conversation in his head that he barely noticed when the room started to brighten with the first rays of sun. He only really came back to alertness when the school nurse came to his bedside, a frown on her face as she puzzled over his already being conscious after the previous evening's potions. As it was, with all his (fortunately minor) injuries being well on the way to healing, Madam Pomfrey conceded that Harry would be free to go after lunch as long as he promised not to overly exert his exhausted magic.
When the time came to leave, Harry, Ron and Hermione (the latter two also having been healed up overnight) went back together to the Gryffindor common room only to be pounced on by a crowd of inquiring well-wishers. As soon as he could, Harry made his excuses and headed up to the first-year boys' dormitory. Sure enough, there on the pillow of his bed was a small, old book entitled 'Smoke and Mirrors; Obscuring the Mind'. Tucked inside behind the worn front page was a handwritten note that simply read 'For services rendered, and for the keeping of secrets.'
Harry smiled. He could readily admit to himself that he had been no star pupil over the previous year. While not on Hermione's level, he wasn't unintelligent. He had just been so wrapped up first in the wonder of discovery and next in the intrigue of the stone that he had never quite fully applied himself to his studies. His (mostly one-sided) conversation with Flamel had been an eye-opener, however. He felt like he had when Hagrid had burst through the door on that island shack and revealed a previously unknown world of magic.
A fire had been lit. A hunger for knowledge that most people didn't even know existed had burst forth inside him roaring to be fed. The sort of knowledge that the Flamels had; the understanding of things beyond the mundane (and wasn't that something, referring to magic of all things as mundane). The sort of knowledge, he realised, that one wouldn't just give to anyone. The sort of knowledge that, instead of being taught in a classroom, might be passed down from master to apprentice, and kept secret to all others.
Harry focussed again on the book in his hands, and his smile grew wider. 'For services rendered, and for the keeping of secrets.'